


so it goes

by rangerhitomi



Series: radical dreamers [11]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: M/M, Past Lives, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durbe has been gone a long time. Nasch misses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so it goes

**Author's Note:**

> so I would choose to be with you  
> that’s if the choice were mine to make  
> but you can make decisions too  
> and you can have this heart to break.

He tries to convince himself that all the knight means with his tiny smiles as they pass in the halls is politeness. He tries to convince himself that all the knight means when he kneels is respect for his king. He tries to convince himself that all the knight means when he takes his hand and presses his lips to it is devotion.

He even tries to convince himself that it’s an accident, or a moment of passion, or a moment of weakness brought on by too much wine at the king’s birthday celebration; when the knight pulls away, grey eyes closed and tears clinging to his eyelashes, his legs threaten to give out on him and his heart throbs, and the taste of wine stays on the king’s lips.

The knight turns and murmurs an apology before walking off, and the king leans against the stone wall and closes his eyes and runs his tongue over his lips because he wants to remember this moment and no matter how much he tries to convince himself it was nothing, he longs for it to have been _something._

* * *

Weeks pass and Durbe won’t so much as look him in the eye anymore; he won’t smile and his bows are stiff and when he holds his hand out for the knight to kiss it, he gets nothing more than the softest graze held in a hand that holds his by the fingertips.

And then, one night, Durbe is gone and Nasch sits on the balcony and stares at the sky blazing with stars and waits for him to come back.

* * *

Nasch leans on the arm of his throne chair, reading a treatise but not really comprehending a word of it; trade, he’s pretty sure, and any other day he’d find about ten things wrong with it and send it back to the scribe for revising, but today he’s distracted because it’s been four months. Four months and Durbe hasn’t come back.

Merag notices and pulls him into the waiting chamber and asks him what’s wrong and he can’t lie to his sister because she always knows.

“Do you think he’s going to come back?” he whispers, and she touches his face gently.

“He has his own kingdom to serve,” she murmurs, and he can’t look her in the eye because he wishes Durbe would serve him and not the other.

* * *

Seven months have passed and Nasch is overwhelmed by all the problems that seem to be happening in his kingdom at the same time, and he has to issue an edict to forbid merchants from setting unreasonable prices on luxury spices and now he has the whole merchant’s council up in arms and he’s frankly tired of listening to them. Rubbing the dull ache forming in his temples, he leaves Merag to tell them to come back tomorrow and goes into the library for some quiet.

It’s lonely, in the library, and _he_ always used to join him and they would find ridiculous scrolls to read in dramatic voices and laugh and the scribe would always scowl at them disapprovingly. That was before he became king. Life was easier, then.

He pulls a piece of parchment close and dips his pen in the inkwell.

He crosses out six different salutations because none of them fit him and finally settles on just _Durbe_. He tries to write something formal, then it’s too casual, but it needs to be what Nasch really yearns to say and he can’t. The written word has never been Nasch’s strength. He’s unsatisfied with the final result, but it’s the best he can do.

_Durbe,_

_You wouldn’t believe what the merchants are up to this time. They’re setting prices on luxury spices again and they won’t stop complaining. It’s grinding my last nerve and I’m about to have a few of them tossed in a cell for a week or so as soon as I can think of a valid law to hold them by._

_I wish you were here. I do miss you and it’s very boring lately when I’m not dealing with these idiots. I know if you choose never to return here to me, it is your choice. I know you have other duties and other people to serve who need you much more than I do. But if you never come back, please just write me to tell me you’re okay._

_Your friend, Nasch_

* * *

The letter remained unsent for three days. On the fourth day, another letter joined it on Nasch’s bedside table, and this letter was covered in salty droplets. Rebellion had seized Durbe’s home kingdom, and he dutifully returned to lead the king’s forces.

Nasch would never send his letter, because it no longer had a recipient. 


End file.
